


why don't you let me (let me)

by fictionalcandie



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Community: kradamadness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn. (Or, the one where Adam is watching porn on his laptop and Kris walks in.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	why don't you let me (let me)

Kris has the door shut behind him before what he’s hearing registers. He hadn’t knocked, or announced his presence, but then it is his room too and Adam hadn’t ever seemed to mind Kris just walking in even when he knew Adam was in there and the door was closed. It hadn’t even occurred to Kris that something might be different this time.

But Adam is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing sleep-pants and a sleeveless UCA shirt that Kris knows for a _fact_ was something _he_ brought into the mansion. There’s a laptop open on the little table next to the bed, angled toward Adam, and Kris can’t hear the video playing on it because Adam’s got on headphones but he can _see_ it perfectly well enough.

Adam is watching porn.

Gay porn.

He’s got the sleep pants pushed down around his thighs, and what Kris is hearing is the slick, fap-fap-fap sound of Adam’s lube-shiny hand on his thick, hard dick.

Kris stares.

It takes a ridiculously long time for him to remember how to clear his throat.

“K-Kris,” says Adam, looking startled and embarrassed, a flush starting somewhere on his neck and spreading in all directions.

“Adam,” Kris says back, and is surprised at how rough his voice sounds.

Abruptly, Adam’s hand leaves his dick, like he only just remembered it was there and that maybe he shouldn’t have it anywhere _near_ there with Kris in the room. “I, uh,” he says, reaching out with his left hand to smack the laptop closed and yank his headphones off, “thought you were busy. Somewhere else.”

“I was.” Kris can’t stop staring, doesn’t want to stop staring, at Adam’s erection, so big and flushed and wet, not softened at all by Kris barging in on Adam like this. “And I’m not now.”

“Right,” Adam mutters, and then he’s fumbling for the sleep pants like he means to pull them back up, hide that gorgeous cock, and Kris absolutely does not want that.

“No,” he blurts, taking a quick step closer to the bed, “stop, don’t.”

Adam freezes, and stares right back at him. “... Kris?”

Kris has never done this before, not anything like this. He’s never kissed a man, he’s never looked at other man’s dick like this, not when it was so fully, obviously hard, not with the _interest_ he feels now, the intent.

He’s jerked off, sometimes, to thoughts of guys, the knowledge that no-one suspects it of him a sick, wicked thrill in the pit of his stomach as he strokes his cock, plays with his sac, tweaks his nipples and imagines someone biting them, rubbing a stubbled jaw over them. But that didn’t really prepare him for something like this, in the real world — he has no idea what to do, no idea what a guy, what _Adam_ , would even want.

Kris wants, though, oh fuck does he want, wants to put his mouth on Adam’s neck, his shoulder, his chest, wants to trace freckles with his tongue and see if sweat tastes different off Adam’s skin. He wants to press himself against him, feel the big solid warmth of him all over, large and male and _Adam_ , wants to let Adam wrap long arms and big hands around him, do whatever Adam wants to him.

Kris thinks, heart pounding hard against his ribcage, that if he just acts _now_ , he won’t have to find the words for all he wants, because maybe he can make Adam see without them.

Kris moves even closer, raises one leg and half-kneels on the bed next to Adam, saying his name softly as he puts a hand out on Adam’s shoulder to steady himself, the fraying edge of his own shirt under his palm.

Looking honestly shocked, Adam says, “What are you—”

“Shh,” says Kris, and with his other hand he reaches for Adam’s lap.

Kris may not know what to do with guys — all he knows about anyone’s ass is that the one time he’d tried anything with his own he’d barely got a fingertip in before it felt too strange and he’d had to stop, and he only knows enough about getting blown to know he doesn’t want to try doing it to someone else for the first time like this — but he knows what _he_ likes perfectly well. He knows how to jack himself off, and a dick’s a dick, so it can’t be that different, can it?

He closes his hand around Adam’s cock.

“Fuck,” Adam swears, and he looks like he wants to scoot away from Kris, but his hips are arching up, pushing against Kris’s hand, and Kris doesn’t at all believe that Adam really wants to get away.

“Shh,” Kris says again, because he really doesn’t have words, and also, holy shit, _he’s got his hand on Adam’s dick_.

“No,” says Adam, but he groans right after and stops trying to get away. “No, I will not fucking _shh_. Kris—”

“Then tell me you don’t want this,” Kris says, leaning in and dragging his nose along Adam’s jaw as he gets a steady rhythm going with his hand. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“ _Stop_?” Adam repeats, but it’s an incredulous question, not a request, and he’s thrusting up into Kris’s fist. “Why would I—”

“Oh, good,” says Kris, because he hadn’t been sure, and kisses Adam.

It takes a moment, but only one, and then Adam’s left hand is in Kris’s hair and he’s moaning into the kiss, his tongue thrusting slick and demanding against Kris’s.

Oh, yes. Adam wants this, too.

Breaking the kiss, Kris twists his wrist on the upstroke, swipes his thumb over the head of Adam’s cock, and watches the way Adam’s eyes go a little heavy lidded.

Kris doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to have to, but he needs it to be _good_ for Adam, needs him to _like_ it, to want this again, so he opens his mouth, manages “What do you— Tell me, I—”

Adam cuts him off, shaking his head and reaching to drag Kris back in at the same time. “God, anything, Kris, don’t stop, do not stop, fuck—”

Kris kisses him again, licks at Adam’s mouth, draws his lower lip in and bites gently, listens as Adam shapes things that might be words but all come out inarticulate moans. Speeding his strokes, Kris feels Adam’s breath hitch, feels him clutch at Kris’s hip with his right hand, the brush of lube-slick fingers on the bare skin of his hip under his shirt.

Adam comes with a deep noise unlike anything Kris has ever heard from him before, even when he’s dripping sex in his lower registers. It is a _fantastic_ noise. Kris eats it up, keeps moving his hand, just to hear more of it, wringing it out of Adam again and again.

“Stop,” Adam finally groans, and Kris does, freezing for a terrible second and thinking maybe Adam will be mad at him after all. But Adam is still talking, saying, “You— Kris, do you— I can, do you want—” and shifting his grip, trying to open Kris’s jeans one-handed.

“Oh,” says Kris, and grunts a little as Adam’s fingers brush over his erection. “Oh. Yeah.”

He lets go of Adam’s messy, softening cock and sits back on his heel a little, trying to give Adam room to work, because Kris is breathing hard and his heart’s beating harder and he’s not actually sure he could be any help at all right now.

“Yeah, okay,” Adam is murmuring, mostly nonsense, “that’s it, yeah, yeah, come on, Kris—”

Barely listening, feeling dazed already, Kris lifts his hand — and he’s not thinking as he does it, doesn’t really mean for it to affect Adam the way it does — but he brings it to his lips and licks at the come on his fingers, just wants to taste, and it’s only after he’s cleaned his pointer finger and as he’s drawing the next two into his mouth at once to suck them clean too, that he realizes Adam’s staring, holding his breath and _staring_ , with this blush high on his cheeks and his eyes dark and glassy.

Staring back, Kris pauses. Then, without looking away, thinking wildly that, God, he doesn’t even recognize himself right now, he draws his fingers most of the way out and pushes them messily back in, sucking and licking around and between his fingers and making it look as wet and— and— _obscene_ as he can, and Adam makes a noise like Kris just punched him in the gut. Adam’s hand slips away from the button of Kris’s jeans, not even trying to get them open anymore, and just cups him through the denim.

Kris whines, bucks forward into Adam’s palm, pulls his fingers out of his mouth so he can cover Adam’s hand with his own and press it even harder against him, and comes just like that.

“Wow,” rasps Adam, wonderingly, staring. “Fuck, _wow_ , Kris.”

Panting, Kris lists forward, propping himself against Adam, and ending up half draped over his lap when Adam wraps his arm around Kris and pulls him closer.

“Next time,” Kris says, not bothering to be embarrassed at the hint of a slur in his voice, “we at least get my pants off.”

After a second, Adam huffs a laugh. “ _Everything_ off,” he counters, and rolls them all the way onto the bed, settling over Kris to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/51134.html?thread=6061758#cmt6061758) at kradamadness. Can also be read [here](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/60111.html) on DW.


End file.
